PRAISE FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING VICTORIA SQUARE MYSTERIES
“Fun plot, fanciful characters, really fabulous crafts. A palette of colorful characters and enticing crafts. Bartlett put her art and soul into this mystery!”
—Laura Childs, New York Times bestselling author of the Cackleberry Club Mysteries, the Scrapbook Mysteries, and the Tea Shop Mysteries
“Ms. Bartlett has established a plucky, intelligent heroine in Kate Bonner and has surrounded her with a cast of fascinating multi-dimensional characters.”
—Ellery Adams, New York Times bestselling author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries and the Book Retreat Mysteries
“A co-op of artisans, one disgruntled artist, and a desperate artifice—the perfect canvas for murder. Lorraine Bartlett’s characters come alive in this tightly crafted, suspenseful plot that grips the reader’s attention right up to the satisfying conclusion.”
—Kate Collins, New York Times bestselling author of the Flower Shop Mysteries
“A quaint town square, crafters, quirky characters, and dead bodies. A Crafty Killing is sure to be a winner.”
—Maggie Sefton, New York Times bestselling author of the Knitting Mysteries
“Wonderful . . . Bartlett starts the new Victoria Square series with a can’t-miss hit!”
—Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author of the White House Chef Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lorraine Bartlett
A CRAFTY KILLING
THE WALLED FLOWER
ONE HOT MURDER
DEAD, BATH, AND BEYOND
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Lorraine Bartlett
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9781101614808
First Edition: December 2016
Cover art by Chris Beatrice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgments
FROM LORRAINE: I’d like to thank my wonderful editor, Tom Colgan, for his incredible patience and faith in me over the years. Thanks, big guy. You’re the best!
Working with Laurie Cass on this book was the smoothest collaborative effort I’ve ever experienced. Thanks, partner!
I’m grateful to my neighbor Tim Cappon, who also happens to be my insurance agent, for suggesting a crucial element of the plot of this book.
FROM LAURIE: Thank you, Lorraine, for the chance to get to know Katie, Andy, Edie, Vance, and all the folks in Artisans Alley.
Contents
Praise for the Victoria Square Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Lorraine Bartlett
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Katie’s Recipes
One
Katie Bonner stepped off the prettiest sloop at Thompson’s Landing and onto the dock, juggling a picnic basket, her purse, and a bulging tote bag filled with swim towels and paperback books. She had just experienced the perfect day sailing on beautiful Lake Ontario. She’d also packed and shared a perfect lunch of baguette stuffed with homemade chicken salad, a lovely bottle of sauvignon blanc, and homemade chocolate-dipped madeleines with her lawyer and friend Seth Landers, and was feeling like nothing in the world could possibly spoil her day.
The sun was shining, seagulls were wheeling about, and every one of the people milling around the dock and boats was smiling. It was the nicest Labor Day weather anyone had seen in years. Content with life in general and the day in particular, Katie almost felt like bursting into song.
And then, from out of nowhere, her former boss at Kimper Insurance Agency, Josh Kimper, stepped in front of her. “Well, well, if it isn’t the high-and-mighty Katie Bonner.” The man didn’t seem capable of speaking without a sneer in his voice.
“Hello, Josh,” Katie said, hoping her voice conveyed the contempt she felt for the man who had abused her goodwill, treated her like little more than a slave, and was—quite frankly—a horse’s ass!
He looked past her to eye Seth’s pride and joy, Temporary Relief. “I see you’ve come up in the world since you left my employ.”
She didn’t bother to dignify the comment with a reply, and instead she forced a smile. “So, what brings you to McKinlay Mill?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t bore her with too long an answer. She didn’t really care why he was there—and hoped he would quickly go away.
“Business and pleasure,” Josh said with a leer. “I’ve rented a slip here in Thompson’s Landing for my boat.” He indicated a large yacht tied to the dock. “It’s perfect for wining and dining potential clients.” His laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Katie turned and studied the boat so she didn’t have to spend any more time looking at her former employer. She’d learned a lot about boats in the last few months. The thirty-seven-foot Carver was slick and spacious and powerful and much too nice for someone like Josh. “I’ve been out sailing once or twice a week for most of the summer,” she said. “Funny we haven’t run into each other before this.” Not that she was complaining.
“This is only my second weekend here,” Josh said. “I tried a few other marinas before I settled in here.”
A shout made Katie glance over to the launch ramp. Someone was backing a trailer into the water and taking his boat out of the water for the season. By the end of the week, a lot of boats would be mothballed for the winter. Still, if she wanted to end the conversation—and she most certainly did—she wasn’t about to ask any more questions.
“Well, I really must run,” Katie lied. “It was—” She hesitated. It hadn’t been nice to see Josh. She could’ve gone years—preferably the rest of her life—without laying eyes on him, and it would have been just fine.
“Good to see you, too, Katie.” There was that smirk again. “It’s too bad you left the firm, but I’m doing fantastically well without you. Profits are up over forty percent. My new office manager is a whiz. Great little gal.”
And did whoever had taken Katie’s place despise being referred to as a “gal” as much as Kati
e had? The edges of Katie’s ears started to burn hot. She took a breath, trying to stay calm, and reminded herself that Josh wasn’t her boss any longer. He didn’t have any power over her, and she didn’t want to waste any energy on him.
“That’s nice,” she said as politely as she could through gritted teeth. “Good-bye, Josh. Have a—” She’d started to say nice life but instead said, “nice Labor Day.”
“I will,” he said in a nasty tone. “You’re the one I worry about.”
She’d started to edge away but stopped and swung to face him straight on. “You? Worry about me? You can’t be serious.”
“Why, Katie, of course I am.” He laughed. “Naturally, I care about your so-called success. Sure, you might have made that mess of a flea market your husband left you work for a few months, but that honeymoon’s over. The only reason you’re still afloat is people felt sorry for you. That’s going to trickle off anytime now, and you’ll come crawling back to me, begging for your old job.” He put on a thoughtful expression. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about rehiring you. After all, you weren’t the worst employee in the world. A twenty percent pay cut from your old wage would be just about right for a gal like you,” he said, winking.
That did it. Katie’s temper, which had been rising steadily through his little speech, soared past the breaking point.
“I wouldn’t work for you again if you paid me double! You’re arrogant and rude and a male chauvinist pig.”
Josh’s face started to turn an unhealthy shade of red. “Arrogant? You’re one to talk. Just because you have that fancy degree doesn’t mean you know more than I do about running a business.”
For years, Katie had bottled up the things she’d wanted to say to Josh. Keeping it all inside was how she’d kept her job, but there was nothing to hold her back, not now. “You know what?” she asked fiercely. “I might have learned more from you about business than I ever did in college.”
The ruddiness on Josh’s cheeks faded. “About time you figured that out.” He gave a condescending chuckle.
Katie went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Yes, it was from you that I learned how not to deal with customers. You taught me that work should never be just about making money, and you taught me that an employer should always have at least an ounce of sympathy for employees. As a negative object lesson, you were an outstanding boss.”
Josh’s face was now scarlet. “You ungrateful—”
“Tut-tut,” Katie said, smiling savagely. “You don’t want to swear in front of children, do you?”
He didn’t even glance at the family picnicking on the deck of a nearby boat. “I’ll do what I want, where I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
She laughed. “Josh, I couldn’t possibly care less what you do and where you do it. I don’t work for you, remember?”
“What’s hard for me to remember is why I kept you on for so long.”
Katie’s temper, which had started to ebb, came back full force. “Because I knew what I was doing, and I was stupidly willing to work for half what I was worth. The smartest thing I ever did was quit working for you.”
“Yeah?” He leaned forward, getting in her personal space. “What are you making now, Little Miss Successful? Who’s paying your health insurance? When was the last time you had a vacation? How’s that pension coming along?”
Katie felt her head swell near the bursting point. Josh had never so much as contributed a nickel to her 401(k), let alone set up a pension plan. And every time she’d tried to take any of the vacation time he’d grudgingly allowed, he’d manufactured a critical conference, or a supposed family emergency would suddenly surface. The injustice still rankled.
Fury filled her. She knew she was about to say something she’d regret, but at that moment, she didn’t care about the consequences. “You are a—”
“Hey.” A large male arm draped around her shoulders. “There you are. I wondered what happened. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Katie pulled away from Seth. “He’s not a friend,” she said, spitting out the consonants. “Never was, never will be. And I hope I never see him again. Ever.” She strode down the dock, ignoring the stares and raised eyebrows of the people she passed.
She’d tried to be civil to Josh Kimper. She’d tried to walk away from him. He was the one who’d goaded her into losing her temper. She knew she should feel a little ashamed of herself for the very public confrontation, but on the contrary, she was feeling pretty good.
A small smile quirked her lips. She’d faced down Josh Kimper and, for once, had told him exactly what she thought of him. Maybe he’d take it to heart and change his ways. It wasn’t likely, but at least she hadn’t let him intimidate her.
Heavy male footsteps came toward her from behind. She stiffened. If that was Josh, hurrying after her . . .
She swung around, her chin already up, but it wasn’t Josh. Her shoulders relaxed, her chin came down, and she waited.
“Who was that?” Seth asked, when he caught up with her.
“My ex-boss.”
Seth grinned as he took the tote bag from her. “Josh the jerk?”
“You’ve got that right.” She wrapped her arm around his, and they started walking again. “Thanks for coming up like that, by the way. If I’d kept on going, I might have said or done something I’d truly regret.”
“Oh?” Seth asked. “Like what? No, let me guess. You might have called him arrogant and rude. And a male chauvinist pig.”
She looked up at him with a rueful expression. “It’s easy to forget how sound carries over water.”
“Ah, but how good it must have felt to let all those feelings out. Is there anything else you need to add? Something about the small size of his feet, perhaps?”
Katie laughed. “Let’s not talk about him. It’s far too nice a day.”
“Works for me,” Seth said cheerfully. “Say, is there anything left in that picnic basket? Sailing all day, you can work up an appetite, you know.”
But the picnic basket was empty. They started talking about dinner options, and soon Katie left all thoughts of Josh Kimper behind.
The shrill sound of sirens awakened Katie way too early the next morning. She squinted at the glowing numerals on her clock: six forty-seven. The sun was hardly up, but the volume of the noise told her the sirens were close.
Katie threw back the light blanket and staggered out of bed to look, disturbing her cats, Mason and Della, who’d been nestled against her. Still sleepy, she stumbled into her apartment’s living room and pulled up the blinds on the window that overlooked Victoria Square. A clot of police cars and an ambulance had just pulled into the lot in front of Sassy Sally’s Inn—what had formerly been known as the old Webster mansion—at the far end of the Square.
“Oh no!” Katie cried. Could something have happened to one of the inn’s owners? She watched as the EMTs spilled out of the ambulance, clutching their gear, and raced through the open gate into the yard and up the inn’s staircase, disappearing inside the building.
Katie turned, hurried back to her bedroom, where she exchanged her nightshirt for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals, grabbed her keys, and flew out the door, worried sick that one of the inn’s owners, Nick Farrell or Don Parsons, was ill. In only seconds, she hit the bottom of the stairs, exited the building, and ran across the parking lot. She was breathless with a stitch in her side by the time she mounted the stairs and entered the inn’s front parlor. Thankfully, she saw Nick.
“I saw the police cars and ambulance,” she gasped. “Are you okay? What about Don?”
“We’re fine,” he said, clasping her hands to reassure her. “But it looks like our first guest has died overnight.”
“A guest?” Katie was puzzled. “But I thought the inn wouldn’t officially open for another two
months.”
“He wasn’t a paying guest,” Nick said. He sighed and shook his head. “It’s too long a story to get into right now.” He glanced at the cherry antique grandfather clock that stood against the far wall. “I wonder if it’s too early to call Seth.”
“Do you really need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know. Better to cover our hind ends just in case.”
“Where’s Don?”
“Upstairs in the only finished guest bathroom with the police.”
“Which one of you found him?”
“Don. The guy asked for a six thirty wake-up call. When he didn’t answer, Don opened the door. He found him dead in that gorgeous soaker tub.”
“How horrible!” Katie easily pictured the scene. She’d spent many hours at Sassy Sally’s with the partners Don and Nick, partners in life as well as in business, helping them plan the renovations. For years it had been her own dream to own the mansion and run it as a bed-and-breakfast, but now that her business was a growing success, she was finding it easier to let the old dream fade.
One of the cops thundered down the stairs. “Are you Katie Bonner?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Parsons said you knew the deceased. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like you to come upstairs and make a positive identification.”
Katie looked to Nick. “I know him?” she asked, confused.
Nick nodded grimly. “Do you think you can do this?”
She’d seen several corpses during the past year—and it wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed. Still . . .
She nodded and followed the cop up the stairs, noting the bannister still needed refinishing. Nick and Don had made a lot of progress on their renovations list, but there was a long way to go before the inn would open in November.
The EMTs hadn’t even unpacked their equipment. “He’s been dead for hours,” one of them explained to another of the uniformed deputies.
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